


Nothing Ventured Means Nothing is Gained

by Isis



Category: Alpennia Series - Heather Rose Jones, Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Banter, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Flirting, Sexy Older Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: Lady Danbury expected a dull evening at the Barringtons' soiree.  Fortunately, she was wrong.
Relationships: Jeanne de Cherdillac/Lady Danbury (Bridgerton Series)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3
Collections: X-Ship - The Crossover Flash Exchange





	Nothing Ventured Means Nothing is Gained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlassesOfJustice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesOfJustice/gifts).



> Set a few years before either canon, which requires a little fiddling with timelines as one's set in 1813 and the other's set in 1821. *handwaves*

It was looking, thought Lady Danbury, as though it would be a dull evening. Their hostess, Lady Barrington, was desperate to be thought fashionable, but her taste was pedestrian; it was clear that her husband had married her for the sizable dowry her merchant family had bestowed upon her, not for her sensibilities. She herself knew what it was to be newly raised to the _ton_ , the colour of her skin no longer an issue through the magic of royal association. But she had carefully studied those in power, and absorbed their tastes. Now, of course, she could afford to ignore the rules of polite society, and do as she pleased. But perhaps it had become second nature to her, as she’d cultivated her opinions; or perhaps it was simply that she had listened to too many exquisite singers, over the years, and this young soprano, belting out an aria that was rather ambitious for her talents, was definitely short of the mark.

She looked around the somewhat over-decorated room. It was not the cream of society, but Lady Barrington had managed to assemble a creditable selection of guests. Several were familiar to her. Over by the far wall, Lady Featherington was scolding her eldest daughter for some fault of manners, real or imagined – one could never tell, with Portia Featherington. Nearer the stage, Lord Cranston was openly ogling the singer, which was no surprise considering his reputation. And near the door to the garden was the Earl of Manvers, whose wife was carrying on an animated conversation with an elegant dark-haired woman...and they were looking at _her_. She smiled in invitation.

Lady Manvers nodded and, taking the arm of her friend, pushed through the crowd toward her. “My Lady Danbury,” she said, as they drew near. Her accent was, as ever, charming; after all these years in England she still sounded vaguely Continental. “It is good to see you again. May I present my dear friend the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac?”

They made their courtesies, murmuring the proper words. Propriety dictated that the introduction should have been the other way around, to honour the other woman’s rank, but of course Lady Danbury was older, and perhaps the countess felt her due some deference. 

“De Cherdillac,” she said. “You are French, then?”

The other woman laughed, a deep, musical laugh, a far cry from the simpering giggles that were usually heard from the young women attending events such as this. Not that the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac was _that_ young. Lady Danbury judged her to be somewhere between thirty-five and forty; still twenty years her junior or thereabouts, but not a child, at any rate. Her dark hair was swept up into elaborate curls, confined by a jeweled band, and her blue dress had the look of Paris.

“My late husband’s name, and his title as well,” said the vicomtesse. Her English held the same accent as that of the countess. “Though I do love France, I am also from Alpennia.” She nodded toward her friend. “Estefenia and I were friends from childhood, and it gives me great joy to see her again.”

“Ah, so like me you are a widow. What brings you to England?”

“The end of a love affair. Oh, it was not a terrible breakup, but I felt the need for a change of scenery.”

Well, _that_ was an unusually frank admission. Lady Danbury couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure you will find many men here who would be quite happy to help you forget your troubles.”

The vicomtesse leaned closer, as though about to impart a great secret. “I’m sure I would. A pity it is not _men_ I am interested in.”

“Jeanne!” scolded Lady Manvers. “Do not make me regret being your hostess!”

“Oh, am I being scandalous? I am sorry,” said the vicomtesse, not sounding sorry at all. “We are not schoolroom misses, but women of the world, yes?”

Lady Danbury laughed despite herself. “I confess I find your candor refreshing.” 

“I do not,” said Lady Manvers. Her tone was sharp, but her eyes were merry, and Lady Danbury surmised that the countess was accustomed to her friend’s ways. “I shall return to my husband. You may rejoin us when you’ve decided to stop being vulgar.”

“Oh, Estefenia, I do not mean to bring dishonor on you. It is only that this claret is going to my head.” With a smile, the vicomtesse lifted her glass, as the Countess of Manvers crossed the room back to her husband’s side. She turned back to Lady Danbury. “And, of course, that I am sadly disappointed in the entertainment. The singer lacks the proper register for that piece, does she not?”

Lady Danbury had a great deal of familiarity with intoxication, and she would wager that the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac was not tipsy in the least. Clearly it was a game she was playing for her own amusement; she was a foreigner, and eventually would be returning home, and so did not have to concern herself with the opinions of others. In that she was much like Lady Danbury herself, though her own insulation from the rules was due to her age and position, and so she could not entirely burn her bridges. 

“That song does not display her talents to best effect,” allowed Lady Danbury.

“Though her costume certainly does,” murmured de Cherdillac. “She has prodigious...talents, indeed.”

Lady Danbury stifled a laugh. The ‘talents’ to which the vicomtesse referred were most assuredly prodigious, and displayed to great effect by the singer’s decolletage. “You’d best not express that sentiment in public,” she said, with a smile to lessen the sting of her words. “I don’t know Alpennian customs, but your friend Lady Manvers is quite right that here it would be considered vulgar. Though if you like, I shall introduce you to Sir Henry Grenville. I have not been to his salons myself, but I have heard they are quite the rage for artistic types who do not concern themselves with propriety.”

“Oh, I am no artist. It is only that I have an appreciation for art, and for those who create it.”

“I imagine Grenville’s set includes both artists and those who merely...appreciate.”

“But, as you have said, you have not been.”

She scoffed. “I am too old to be included in those particular entertainments.”

“Then I am not interested in his salons,” said the vicomtesse. “You are far more fascinating than an untalented soprano – or even a talented one, I daresay. And I have found over the years that the fresh beauty of youth is no match for the mature beauty that age and experience bring. Even a foreigner such as I can see that you, Lady Danbury, are a formidable power in London society. Everyone fears you, and everyone admires you.”

“Though they do not often say so to my face,” Lady Danbury said wryly.

“I imagine they wouldn’t dare! But there is a saying, you know: nothing ventured means nothing is gained.” The vicomtesse smiled, tilting her head so that one of her black curls fell across her cheek. It was a practiced smile, but a charming one.

She had her own practiced expressions, and deployed one now, raising an eyebrow and lowering her chin. “What, precisely, do you venture here?”

“A little honest flattery,” said de Cherdillac, her smile widening and becoming more genuine, “in hopes that you might consider furthering our acquaintance.”

“How very forward of you! You are as bad as the scheming mamas of our would-be society belles, trying to enlist my help to secure vouchers to Almack’s.”

“But I am looking for no favour from you – only the favour of the chance to get to know you better. If you wish to give it, that is. I promise I am not like a man who continues to press his suit even when he knows it is unwelcome.”

“No, I can see that,” said Lady Danbury. An audacious woman, to be sure, but her straightforward manner was a pleasant contrast to the usual schemes and social games that threaded through the Season. And her offer, if offer it was, was intriguing, to say the least. “On alternate Thursday nights during the season I host a small soirée for the married ladies alone, without their husbands. Cards, champagne punch, that sort of thing. Please, do come next week, you and the countess. Or,” she added, feeling an almost schoolgirlish sense of daring, “if you care to call on your own, I shall be at home to you.”

“I look forward to it. It was lovely to meet you, Lady Danbury.” 

She watched de Cherdillac as she made her way back to her friends. Perhaps, she thought, this evening hadn’t been _entirely_ dull, after all.


End file.
